


Too Mortal Flesh

by Fullmetalcarer



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Brief but graphic mentions of concentration camps, Charles You Will Be Drunk, Charles in a Wheelchair, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Happy Ending, M/M, XMA - Freeform, chubby!Charles, dofp, pudge love, skinny!Erik, xmfc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer
Summary: Erik is disgusted by his own scrawniness, his scars, his angularity.He is enraptured by Charles' chubbiness, his softness, his creamy flesh.Charles and Erik, through thick and thin (literally).





	1. XMFC

Everyone thought Erik disliked Moira because she was CIA and human. And he did dislike her for those reasons, though it was not so much dislike as caution. She seemed a competent, efficient woman, who, given her gender, must have had to surmount many barriers to get where she was in the Agency. But she was so thin he could scarcely bear to look at her. Bony wrists and ankles. Too slim limbs. Virtually non-existent breasts.

She reminded him of the skeletal figures who haunted his dreams. Stick men and women herded into "showers", beaten by guards, barely human, nightmares from some vision of hell. He'd had to stack them for burning. After a while they became so much kindling. Then one of them would open their eyes on the way to the furnace and Erik would retch until his throat burned, while the soldiers joked and laughed.

The boys weren't much better. Too thin, too thin. They needed more meat on their bones. Raven was alright. She had breasts. She had hips. She was covered in peachy flesh.

He was as bad as Moira, worse. He'd stand naked in front the mirror. Ecce homo. His body was all harsh lines and ugly angles. Skin was stretched over bone and sinew and muscle. No softness. No curves. Nothing to hide the skeleton that pushed through his meagre flesh. He knew people found him attractive. He'd used it to his advantage in the past with women and, less frequently, men. But he saw nothing to admire, only a living corpse. And the scars! Neat, surgical scars. Burns from flame and acid. Ugly, irregular tears, looking as though some ferocious beast had savaged him. And, of course, some ferocious beast had.

But Charles! Ah, he was beautiful. Deliciously plump. He wasn't unfit. He could do multiple laps of the house with ease and he was a surprisingly good boxer. But his muscles were cloaked in lovely flesh. He had chubby cheeks and the suggestion of a double chin. His nipples were surrounded by flesh, almost as though he had tiny breasts. His thighs were meaty. But his ass, his ass was perfect. Round, plump, plush, upholstered in lovely peachy, downy flesh. When they fucked he'd flush all over. A rosy glow would descend from his cheeks to his chest and even, sometimes, his lovely, pudgy belly.

Erik would rub his face into Charles' stomach rolls. He'd sink his fingers and his teeth into his juicy ass. He'd clamp his solid thighs together and do it Oxford style. He'd push his tiny tits together and thrust his prick between them. He'd rut against the ample curves of his buttocks. And sometimes, if Charles was feeling generous, he'd let Erik fuck him up the ass. Erik would thrust into him in a trance of delight, watching his flesh jiggle and bounce with every stroke. Charles was lazy and only too happy to lie back in his huge bed and let Erik do all the hard work. Erik would bring him off with his hand. He'd suck him dry. He'd twist his body into obscene positions and fuck him from every angle. Charles would moan and gasp and sob and pour praise on Erik from mouth and mind. Afterwards, red and glowing and bathed in sweat he'd ask:

"Would you mind terribly cleaning me up, darling?"

And Erik would worship the god of his idolatry with washcloth and towel.

They were eating breakfast in the kitchen. Training was going well and everyone was in a good mood, even Erik. Raven was teasing the boys. Erik wasn't paying much attention. He was too busy watching Charles tucking into a fried breakfast with gusto. Chewing on a sausage. Licking ketchup from his lips. Picking up bacon with his chubby fingers. He gave Erik a knowing look and sent him an absolutely filthy image.

"You'd better watch out Charles, chowing down on all that unhealthy food, or you'll end up even fatter than you are," said Raven.

Charles smiled and laughed. Erik got to his feet and choked out:

"He's perfect as he is."

He stormed off to the library. He was flicking through Rilke, not really reading it, just turning the pages, when he felt Charles' battered but expensive watch approaching. He opened the door and closed it behind him.

He smiled at Erik, loving and filthy.

"So, I'm perfect am I?"

"Yes, yes you are," whispered Erik and got on his knees to show Charles just how perfect he and his prick and his sumptuous body were.

Then Cuba happened.

* * *

Raven had been to visit Charles in hospital. She'd done nothing but cry for hours when she got back. Eventually she'd told him that Charles would never walk again. Erik brought down half of Shaw's safe house in his guilt and rage.

The next day he had Azazel teleport him Charles' bedside. Charles was hooked up to various machines. Tubes went up his nose and down his throat and into his veins. His skin was so white it looked translucent. There were great, dark, bruise-like shadows under his eyes. His hair was lank and greasy. Erik stood at the end of the bed, shaking with pain and anger. The bed frame warped under his hands. The machines keeping Charles alive began to beep furiously. The girders in the walls groaned in sympathy. Aazazel teleported him away to an abandoned steel yard. He spent the night crushing and melting every piece of metal he could find.

Some months later he had Azazel teleport him to Westchester. He wasn't wearing his full regalia of cloak and armour, but he did put on the helmet. He crept into Charles' bedroom and found it empty, with a lot of Charles' things removed. Of course, he'd have a bedroom on the ground floor now. Erik made his way downstairs and scouted around. He found him by feeling for his watch. He opened the door. Charles looked up. At first he looked utterly incredulous, then, very briefly, overjoyed. Finally his expression settled into anger.

"Well don't just stand there, come in," he said, voice harsh.

Erik came in and shut the door behind him. Charles was sitting in a wheelchair. He was dressed in pyjama bottoms and a sweatshirt with some unidentifiable stains on the front. His hair was a mess. God, he was thin. His cheekbones were razor sharp and his cheeks were hollow. His wrists and ankles were bony. His collarbones stood out above the drooping neckline of the sweatshirt.

"You haven't been eating properly," blurted out Erik.

"Not eating properly?" Charles stared at him with amazed contempt. "Not eating properly? Funnily enough, Erik, I've been rather occupied with other things. Multiple operations to save my life. Learning to use a wheelchair. Catheterising myself so I can take a piss. Do you know what I have to do to take a shit? I have to shove an enema up my arse. It's amazing I've found time to breathe, let alone eat. Though my time has been freed up from other activities. I don't go for my daily run anymore. I don't pop out for a drive. No stair climbing for me. Oh, and guess what, no fucking, not even any wanking, because my cock doesn't work!"

He was shouting by the time he got to the end of his speech, shouting and shaking and, oh, God, crying.

Erik fell on his knees at the side of the wheelchair.

"I'm sorry, Charles, I'm so sorry. I'd do anything to undo what I've done. It was an accident, I swear. I wasn't paying attention to where I was deflecting the bullets. I can't believe I was so careless. It was unforgivable."

Charles sneered.

"Unforgivable, yes. An accident, maybe. But was it an accident when you made me hold Shaw while you pushed a coin through his skull? I couldn't let go because he'd have killed you, so I got to feel it too, slicing through my head. Was it an accident when you ignored me and decided to kill thousands of men? What I said was incredibly stupid, about just obeying orders, but did that really justify mass murder? Was it an accident when you punched and beat me? Was it an accident when you took my sister away?"

He paused for breath then started again, tears streaming down his face.

"Hilariously enough, I thought that if I gave Raven a completely free choice, even encouraging her to choose you, that she'd choose me. Just shows you what a cretin I am. Was it an accident when you pissed off and left us stranded on that beach, me having just been shot in the back, and let us find our own way home? Did you think we'd call a fucking taxi? Did you thing we'd get on a buggering bus? Did you see a railway station on that beach? Fucked up as I was I had to mind control umpteen people to get us home. And now you turn up here and the first thing you say is "You haven't been eating properly"? You cunt, Erik, you absolute cunt!"

He started hitting out at Erik, slapping and punching. Erik just knelt there and took it. After all, he deserved it. After a while, Charles ran out of steam. Erik had a split lip and what felt like the beginnings of a black eye. Charles sat there, gasping for breath. Gradually his breathing slowed. He swiped his sleeve across his face, wiping off the sweat, snot and tears. He gazed at Erik with red rimmed, blue eyes that seemed too big for his thin face.

"Believe it or not I'd planned to greet you with calm dignity. To be forgiving. To take the moral high ground. I was going to be wise and understanding. Hah!"

"I . . . I can't think of anything to say."

Charles rolled his eyes.

"You always were absolutely crap at expressing your feelings. For fuck's sake get up off the floor, your knees must be killing you."

"It doesn't matter."

"Stop playing the early Christian, or rather Jewish, martyr and sit on the bloody sofa."

Erik did as he was told. Charles wheeled over, put his breaks on and levered himself inelegantly onto the sofa next to Erik.

"You wouldn't believe the number of times I've forgot to put the breaks on. That's always good for a laugh. If my spine wasn't already shattered it would be after doing that."

Erik winced.

"Sorry," said Charles, not looking or sounding in the least sorry.

"So, I see you're still wearing Shaw's bucket in your head. Why on earth is it that colour and what the fuck is that thing glued to the front? It looks like a beetle. Is it some very roundabout reference to evolution? You know, that "inordinate fondness for beetles" quote."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Erik and made to lift his helmet off.

Charles stopped him with a hand atop his. Erik felt as though he had been shot through with electricity. Charles looked pretty shaken too. They both stared at Charles' hand on Erik's. Charles snatched his hand away.

"Don't take it off."

"I thought you hated it?"

"I do, but I'm afraid of what I might do to you if you take it off."

Charles looked genuinely panicked.

"I trust you."

"That's not what you said when you were in the sub."

Charles smiled. It was a pathetic smile, but a smile nonetheless. He was actually making a joke. Erik felt like sobbing. He pulled the helmet off, bracing himself for pain or his mind being wiped. Instead a soft warmth suffused his skull. He felt as though a gentle, spring sun was shining in his head. Charles gazed at him, not with hatred, but with wonder.

"I'd forgotten how wonderful your mind feels. You're like a symphony, Erik, a symphony of feeling. Such highs. Such lows. Beautiful, truly beautiful."

Very hesitantly Erik reached out and placed his hand on Charles' thin cheek. Charles trembled. So did Erik. He wanted to kiss him so much.

"Go ahead then."

Charles looked surprised by the words that had come out of his mouth.

I mean it though.

Are you sure?

No, I'm very fucking far from sure, but it's what I want.

Who am I to deny you what you want?

He put one hand on the back of Charles' head - his hair was greasy - and the other on his shoulder. He leant in and pressed his lips to Charles'. His breath was off and his chin was stubbly. Charles wrapped his arms round Erik and kissed back. It started off soft, then they were both fighting to get their tongues in each other's mouths. Their teeth knocked together and Charles drew back and giggled. Erik snorted.

"Let's try again."

The second attempt was much more successful. Erik got his tongue in Charles' mouth and Charles sucked the way he'd used to suck Erik's cock. When he wasn't bring a lazy bastard and forcing Erik to do all the hard work, that is.

Oi, I wasn't lazy! And there was no forcing involved, you loved it.

Yes, yes I did.

Erik sucked Charles' tongue into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. One of Charles' hands was on his chest. It crept down towards his waistband and made a sudden grab for his crotch. Erik jumped. They both pulled back from the kiss.

"Oh, you're hard for me."

Charles sounded stunned.

"I'm always hard for you," said Erik.

Charles started frantically fiddling with his zip. Erik took hold of his hands.

"No, it's not fair, not when you can't . . . can't feel the same."

"I can ride along with you though."

Charles' grin was confident, but his thoughts fluttered with uncertainty as to whether Erik would still want him, broken as he was. Erik shoved all his desperate desire and longing and arousal at Charles, who gasped. He unzipped himself with his powers. Charles tugged his cock out of his pants.

Beautiful.

Charles' hands were cold, clammy and calloused. He'd always had such soft hands.

It's from wheeling the chair.

Erik's mind flooded with guilt.

Shutupshutupdontspoilthis

Charles spat in his hand and had Erik add some of his own spit. His fingers were trembling, but his grip on Erik's cock was firm and sure. Erik gazed down at the short, strong, stubby fingers working his cock. He looked at Charles' face. He was utterly intent. Erik could feel the fierce focus of his telepathy. He stroked Erik slowly and leisurely. Erik groaned. Charles flashed him a grin. He sped up a bit. Erik's cock started leaking pre-come. Charles swiped his thumb over the head and through the fluid. He gave Erik's circumcision scar a bit of a tickle. Erik moaned and broadcast:

yesyesyescharlesyes

He wrapped one arm round Charles' shoulders and rested a hand on Charles' thigh. He got an echo of Charles feeling Erik feeling Charles. He gave Erik just the lightest of scrapes with the tips of his nails. Erik shivered and swore. He shortened his strokes and increased the frequency. Erik was close now. Charles gave his balls a squeeze and he shouted and spurted come over his own lap and Charles' fingers. His orgasm was deepened and brightened and drawn-out by Charles coming with him. They shuddered in each other's arms. The aftershocks petered out. They sat entwined, Charles' head on Erik's shoulder, Erik's chin resting on his hair.

"That was a stupid thing to do," said Charles.

"Yes."

"It doesn't change anything."

"No."

"We still don't agree. We're still in opposition. We may very well end up as enemies."

"Yes."

"Feel free to disagree with me at any point," said Charles.

"I wish I could."

Charles sighed. "I don't want to be your enemy."

"I don't want to be yours."

"Then why do I have this sick feeling it's inevitable?"

Erik hugged him a little tighter. After a while he got some tissues from Charles' bedside table and cleaned them up. They cuddled some more. Erik knew he ought to go.

"Don't go, stay with me."

Charles' voice was soft and devoid of hope. Erik wanted to stay so much, but he couldn't give up his crusade.

"Fuck off then," said Charles, pushing him away.

"Can I . . . can I come and see you again?"

"If you want to," said Charles, very offhand. His thoughts shouted yesyesyes.

"Of course I want to."

He stood and put on the helmet. Charles winced.

"And for heaven's sake, eat more, you're all skin and bones."

"Oh, fuck off, you," said Charles, fondly.

He did eat more and he started taking better care of himself. He got the school going too. They had some fierce arguments and their followers had some vicious run-ins. It didn't stop them fucking though. Charles had started their last encounter by telling him his tactics were counterproductive and Erik had described him as supine. They'd ended up with Erik straddling Charles in his wheelchair and Charles sucking him off. Erik had nearly overturned them when he'd come. He'd had to fix the wheelchair, parts of which he'd melted. They transferred to the sofa and Erik ran his fingers along Charles' truly impressive arms and shoulders. He let them stray to his magnificent chest. He couldn't help missing his tits though.

Charles laughed. "I'm not putting on weight just to satisfy your male mammary fetish."

It was the last time he saw him before Dallas. It was the last time he saw him for ten years.


	2. DOFP

Erik was overjoyed to see Charles in the Pentagon, even though he got punched in the face. When he found out what Charles had been doing for the last decade - giving up on the school, taking a serum that made him human, sacrificing his telepathy to walk, abandoning his mutant sisters and brothers, abandoning Erik - joy turned to rage.

He said terrible things. He almost brought down the aircraft. When every piece of metal had reluctantly pinged back into shape, Charles stormed off and locked himself in the bathroom. The huge lumberjack made some sarcastic comments that Erik barely registered. He waited for Charles to return. He wouldn't offer an apology, but a truce perhaps? Charles didn't return. Erik made his way to the back of the plane. He knocked on the door.

"Fuck off!"

Erik flicked his fingers and opened the lock. He shouldered his way into the tiny space. Charles tried to push him out, but wasn't strong enough. The door slid closed behind him. They were jammed together, face to face, chest to chest, hip to hip. This close Erik could smell him. He'd used to smell of soap and shampoo and expensive cologne and maybe a hint of sweat. Now he smelt of unwashed clothes and unwashed hair and unwashed body. His hair was hideous, long and straggly. He had an unkempt beard. And he was so scrawny. Not as bad as he'd been after Cuba, but there was no soft layer of fat to soften his hard lines.

"What do you want, Erik?"

What did he want? Being this close to an another human being, particularly Charles, was overloading his senses. He'd never realised being deprived of touch was a kind of torture.

"I want you."

Charles' face contorted with rage.

"Get out, Erik, get out!"

Erik sneered.

"Make me. Oh, that's right, you can't."

Charles snarled and wrestled Erik round to face the door. Ah, the touch of his hands on Erik's shoulders and waist and hips. His breath on the back of Erik's neck. The pressure of his chest on Erik's back and his groin on Erik's buttocks. It had been so long since Erik had been touched by another human being that he was already more than half hard.

"Pants down," gasped Charles.

Erik used his powers to unzip and tug his pants down, taking his boxers with them.

Charles fumbled with something beside the tiny sink. There were a couple of plastic bottles, one of liquid soap, one of hand lotion. He slathered his fingers with lotion and pressed one between Erik's buttocks. Erik felt him feeling around for Erik's hole. His finger tapped at the entrance then he pushed the tip in. Erik damn near came right then and there. Charles pushed the rest of his finger in and slid it in and out of Erik's pucker. The sound of their harsh breathing bounced off the walls. He added another finger. Erik wasn't quite ready, so it stung. Charles worked him with two fingers, reaching for his prostate. When he found it, Erik went up on his toes and sobbed with pleasure. Charles pushed a third finger in and scissored and curled them. Then he pulled out.

There was a moment's pause, then he felt Charles' blunt cock head at the edge of his hole. It took Charles three attempts to get the angle right and push in. They both froze, Erik holding his breath, Charles gasping against the back of his neck. He was blissfully, painfully full. He started thrusting, fast and hard. Erik lost himself in the drag and plunge of Charles' cock.

He dragged himself back from the brink and grabbed hold of the metal sink. He reshaped it into a finger length, finger width cylinder. He dipped it in the bottle of lotion and floated it between Charles' buttocks. Charles stilled. Erik pushed it in. Charles gave a hoarse cry and pushed back against the makeshift dildo. He started fucking Erik again. Erik started fucking him to the same rhythm.

Charles shifted and hit Erik's prostate. Erik bit into the back of his hand to choke back a scream. He lengthened and thickened the dildo. Charles wrapped one arm round Erik's waist and the other round his throat. He pushed Erik down as he thrust up. Erik rotated his hips and clenched. Charles moaned. Erik moaned. He made the dildo bigger, as big as he thought Charles could take.

"More," ordered Charles.

Erik made it even larger, making sure to tap Charles' prostate with every thrust, matching Charles stroke for stroke. Charles' fingers drifted over his cock, absurdly gentle in contrast to the brutal fucking he was giving Erik.

"Please, please, please," groaned Erik.

Charles pumped even harder and stroked Erik's cock with tender delicacy. Erik pressed the dildo against his prostate and made it vibrate. Charles' fingers clamped on Erik's prick. Erik shouted and came. Charles sobbed "Erik" and shot his load deep inside him. They leant against the door, shuddering.

Gradually their breathing slowed and their pulse rates returned to normal. Erik could feel the iron in Charles' blood slowing its headlong rush. He turned round to face Charles. He wrapped his arms round Charles' shoulders. Charles clasped his hands behind Erik's neck.

"We should clean up," said Erik.

"You'll need to fix the sink first. Currently it's lodged up my arse."

They both laughed. Erik careful extracted the "sink". Charles winced a little. He reformed it and they cleaned up as best they could, given the confined space. They had to keep reaching over and around each other.

"Like a couple of octopuses," said Erik.

"Octopi," corrected Charles.

"Yes, thank you professor."

Charles smiled. He looked heartbreakingly vulnerable. Erik recalled the confident, bordering on arrogant, young man he'd been. Well, Erik and the world had stripped him of that, along with his lovely excess flesh, had fined him down to a creature of gristle and bone.

When they returned to the main cabin, the Canadian sniffed and rolled his eyes. Hank went bright red.

They fucked in the hotel in Paris, slow and tender, with many kisses. The night before the conference, Erik lay awake next to a sleeping Charles. Tomorrow he'd betray Charles yet again. He had to, he'd be betraying his mutant sisters and brothers if he didn't. Lying next to Charles, listening to his soft breathing, to the tiny noises he made in his sleep, little snuffles and snores, it was hard to remember that.

Of course it all went wrong the next day. Raven escaped. Hank nearly drowned him. Then there was the stadium and the White House and the sentinels. He almost killed Charles with some falling debris. Raven shot him. And Charles was in his head, overwhelming and glorious, using Erik's powers to free himself. Charles' emotions were his own for a moment; anger, betrayal, sorrow, a desperate, desperate weariness, and, inexplicably, love. Charles let him go.

Erik ran. He ran away from his old life, away from everything he had done and everything he had been. He ran away from Charles.


	3. XMA

Erik dreams. Black birds flap through the trees. An arrow flies through the air. His precious ones are dead, dead, dead. Light glints on flying metal and the men fall and lie bloody and still. He clutches the locket in his fist. He clutches his Magda, his Nina in his arms. He lays them in the ground, kissing them before blanketing them with earth.

Erik dreams. En Sabah Nur whispers to him of the annihilation of the weak and the exaltation of the strong. He takes him back to where it all began, where his parents died and Erik suffered. He strengthens and deepens Erik's powers. Erik reaches down into the earth - the earth where Magda and Nina rot, worms eating their flesh; soon they will be nothing but white bones and the bones will become dust - and up into the air and tears the place apart. Nothing matters. He could sit unmoving, not eating, not drinking until he fades away. He could destroy the world. Nothing matters. 

Erik dreams. There is Charles. Charles matters. He asks Erik not to be a part of the destruction that is to come. He tells him there's still good in him. Erik tells him that's all gone, gone with Nina and Magda. Cairo is ripped to shreds. The pieces dance in the air, dance in the electromagnetic currents that flow through him like the blood in his veins. There is a sort of beauty in it. The X-Men fight En Sabah Nur. They are losing. En Sabah Nur will posses Charles. All that brightness and compassion and love turned to poison. Erik shouldn't care. He doesn't care. Except he does. He attacks Apocalypse with all he's got. The boy blasts En Sabah Nur with plasma. Storm stabs him with lightening. It's not working. They're all going to die. Erik is relieved. He's sorry about Charles though. Then the red-headed girl explodes in a blaze of terrifying glory. She spreads wings of fire and rips Apocalypse into atoms. Erik's burning too. He deserves to burn.

No, that's not what happened. Jean didn't hurt you. Come back, Erik, come back to me.

Erik opened his eyes. Canvas flapped above his head. Charles was sitting in his wheelchair, peering under the tentflap. He sat up. He stared at Charles. He still couldn't get used to his bald head.

"Thanks for that," said Charles, sourly.

"It's not that it doesn't suit you, it's just . . . different."

"Not helping," said Charles, but he smiled.

Erik smiled back. It felt unnatural on his face.

"Come look at the plans and some photos of the house with me and Jean."

"I'll be with you after a quick wash and brush up." That was a phrase he'd picked up from Charles.

The students and teachers were using the pool house for showering and bathing. Erik brushed his teeth and had a quick spritz. Charles and Jean were sitting at a trestle table, looking at pictures and architectural drawings of the former mansion. Apparently a lot of important papers had been lodged with Charles' lawyers, so escaped the conflagration. Jean handed him a croissant. The local bakeries and restaurants were making a fortune out of Camp Xavier.

Both Charles and Jean snorted at his thought of Camp Xavier. Both of them flowed in and out of other people's thoughts like water and no one asked them to stop.

The three of them pored over the drawings and photographs.

"Do you think there's enough here for you to rebuild?" asked Charles.

"Yes," said Jean.

"Maybe," said Erik.

"Excellent, I'm sick of sleeping in a motorhome."

"At least you've got a motorhome, most of us are in tents."

Charles widened his eyes. "Erik, surely you're not suggesting the younger children or the older staff give up their motorhome accommodation to you?"

"No, but how come you get one? Though you are childish enough to qualify as one of the younger children and, with that bald head, you could be one of the older staff."

Charles huffed in mock outage and Jean laughed. Erik grinned and then it hit him. They were dead and he was joking with Charles. The two telepaths stilled and stared at him.

Erik -

Erik stood, knocking papers onto the grass.

"Get out of my head, Charles, and you, Jean, whatever the fuck you are, you stay out too."

He strode off and kept walking until everyone was far behind him and he couldn't even hear their noise. Tears blinded him. He sank to his knees and bowed his head to the earth, the earth where they slept. He laughed out loud. They didn't sleep, they were dead.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He rubbed his hands and face on the stony ground, scratching and tearing his skin. He tore his shirt. He wished he remembered the old words, the Hebrew prayers for the dead, but they wouldn't come. What was the use of praying anyway? There was no one to hear. Nina and Magda weren't looking down on him from heaven, they were rotting in makeshift graves.

He'd walked so far he'd come to the boundary fence. Some of the estate margin was walled, some of it was enclosed with rather elegant metal railings. He tore them from the ground and hurled them into the air. He melted them into nightmare forms. He sharpened them into blades and sliced at the grass and trees and bushes, strewing butchered greenery everywhere. He screamed and laughed and cried and drew long lines of blood down his forearms with tiny slivers of metal.

He lost track of time. A tasteless, gaudy sunset was bleeding purple and magenta and gold over the clouds as he walked back to the camp. Children looked askance at him as he passed. Charles wheeled up. He took Erik's wrists in his hands and turned them palm up. Blood was congealing from elbow to wrist.

"Let me take care of this."

Erik tried to pull his hands away and failed. Charles had a strong grip.

"It doesn't matter."

"It most certainly does matter. Besides, it would be ridiculous for you to die of blood poisoning after everything you've been through. And there are children here, Erik. They've had quite enough to distress them recently, they don't need anything else."

Charles led him by the hand to the pool house. A gaggle of noisy children were brushing their teeth. Erik felt a flicker of telepathy. All the kids went quiet and quickly left the building.

"Really, Charles, it's too bad of you, disrupting their dental hygiene routine."

Charles fought back a laugh.

"Shut up you idiot."

He sat Erik down and fetched a washcloth, a towel, ointment and dressings. He washed Erik's wounds thoroughly, muttering, "only superficial, thank heavens," dried them, applied ointment, which stung, and carefully covered them with the dressings. His hands were gentle and sure. Erik felt as if they were caught in a moment out of time. They could have been training before Cuba, Charles patching up Erik after some training mishap.

Charles picked up the thought and smiled at him.

"I think that was the happiest time of my life," said Erik and immediately felt like a traitor to Nina and Magda.

"It's normal you know, to experience moments of happiness after you've lost people and to feel guilty for it. I find myself cheerfully bowling along and suddenly remember that Alex is dead. Alex and countless thousands of others. I'm not comparing my grief to yours, Alex wasn't my child, though sometimes I thought of him as a son, but I get those flashes of guilt too."

Erik grinned humourlessly.

"I don't get flashes of guilt, Charles, I'm submerged in it. I'm drowning in guilt."

Charles fixed Erik with his bright blue eyes. He felt his telepathy wash through his head in a subtle tide. He felt he ought to protest, but he didn't have the energy.

If you want to talk about them, out loud or like this, I'm here.

No.

The tide withdrew. Erik slept well that night. He suspected Charles had done something and felt a spark of anger, but also a surge of gratitude.

* * *

The building went well. Charles hired a quantity surveyor to advise on materials and a builder to make sure they were sticking to regulations. They supervised Erik and Jean. The work was a combination of heavy lifting and fiddly detailed stuff. At the end of the first day the builder looked at the two of them and said:

"Once you're done with this, if you ever need a job, look me up. I'd employ you like shot. You too, miss."

"Don't you know who I am?" said Erik.

"I sure do. You done some shit and you been through some shit. I'm an ex-con. I killed a guy. Manslaughter. I know all about second chances."

Jean looked at and into Erik. Flame flickered in her eyes. He felt as if he was being judged simultaneously by a teenager and something immeasurably ancient. The teenager won out.

"If this was a movie we'd be finished in a couple of weeks," she said.

"If this was a movie there'd be a montage and we'd be done in seconds."

Jean laughed. The builder, Carmine, joined in.

"I estimate nine months, minimum."

"Like giving birth," said Jean.

Erik was back in the bedroom of their cabin and Magda was gripping his hand so hard he thought she'd break his fingers. She gasped and sweated and swore and screamed and pushed. It seemed to take forever, then suddenly Nina was there, red faced and squalling. It was a ridiculous cliché, but Erik was stunned by how small she was. The midwife cut the cord and gave her to Magda and waited for the placenta to be passed. Erik sat on the edge of the bed and embraced Magda and gazed down at Nina.

He couldn't help thinking of Anya, the older sister she'd never have. Anya would be a grown woman now, in her twenties. Perhaps she'd have been embarrassed by having a baby for a sister. Perhaps she'd have adored her and been a second mother to Nina.

Come back to us, Erik.

He couldn't disobey that voice, the voice of a young woman, overlaid with something entirely inhuman.

* * *

Erik, Jean and Carmine bonded over their dislike of the quantity surveyor, a prissy little man.

"Poor chap," said Charles. "He's harmless enough."

"He thinks we're all freaks," said Jean, dangerously calm.

Her gaze turned to the hapless man, who was inspecting a delivery of timber.

"Jean, no!" snapped Charles.

Erik could feel her power like electricity on his skin. Then it was gone and she was looking slightly bewildered. Scott called for her and she excused herself. The surveyor tapped happily away at the stack of planks, unaware of how close he'd come to disaster.

"Think you'd better get yourselves a new surveyor," said Carmine.

They did. He was a bluff man who treated Jean with a kind of old fashioned courtesy.

"He thinks I'm just like a real life princess," she said happily and sauntered off to chat with Jubilee.

Erik, Charles and Carmine exchanged glances.

"Don't get me wrong," said Carmine, "Ninety percent of the time she's a sweetheart, but that final ten percent, well that scares the bejesus out of me."

That night, after all the kids had gone to bed, Erik and Charles sat playing chess in Charles' motorhome. Erik was out of practice and Charles was creaming him. They were discussing getting mobile homes set up on site. Summer was ending and though the weather was fine now, it was bound to change. Charles checkmated him. Erik sighed and tipped his king. He stretched his arms above his head and arched his back. Working on the mansion all day made his muscles ache. He didn't need to gesture to manipulate the girders, pipes, nails, screws and door furniture, but it helped his focus. It also made him as stiff as a board.

"We're none of us getting any younger," said Charles.

"We still look young. Neither of us looks much more than mid-thirties."

"Ah, Hank has a theory about that. He believes powerful mutants age more slowly than humans or less powerful mutants. He's got a long way to go before he proves it though."

"If he's right Jean is going to look like a teenager when she's a hundred."

They contemplated Jean.

"What is she, Charles?"

"I don't know. Sometimes it seems like it's an integral part of her, sometimes it's as if it's a completely separate entity."

"You know I believe we shouldn't be afraid of our powers, you know I believe in using them to the full. Jean . . . Jean tests that belief."

Charles sighed. "I know what you mean. Her telepathy is nowhere near as powerful as her telekinesis. If I acted now I could probably lock down the . . . the Phoenix. But for how long? And how would it react when it finally got free?"

Erik was silent.

"Not going to tell me I should allow Jean to be mutant and proud?"

"I feel like I ought to, but the words wouldn't ring true. She scares me, Charles."

"Me too. I feel like the only option is to help her to control it, to use it for good, to make some accommodation with whatever it is, whether it's truly a part of her or not."

"You may be right."

Charles put on a ridiculous "shocked" face.

"Words I never expected to hear from your mouth."

"Words I never expected to say."

Fuck, he looked lovely. Blue eyes shining. Red lips slightly parted. A faint flush in his cheeks. He could still do with gaining some weight to suit Erik's tastes, just a little padding to soften those impressive muscles. Erik wondered what it would be like to run his hands over his bald head. Charles had always had a very sensitive scalp. Was it even more sensitive now? Would he like Erik to gently scrape his nails over all that newly exposed skin?

They were leaning towards each other. Charles' eyes gleamed. His tongue slipped out to moisten his lips.

Nina.

Magda.

He leapt to his feet, knocking over the chess set, and fled. He ran into the night, tripping over stones and stumbling over roots. He ran all the way to the newly restored gates. He stopped and leant against them, gasping for breath and reaching out with his powers. The gates. The fence. The metal in the new building. Metal in people's blood. The metal in the city. Skyscrapers. Cars. Trains. Planes flying overhead. The metal in the rocks beneath his feet. Deeper still, the molten metal surrounding the earth's core. And everywhere, the earth's magnetic field, flexing and fluxing, lifting him off his feet and into the sky.

He soared above the partially completed school. He could wreck it all so easily. Rebuilding the school was hard. Destroying it would be simple. He'd meant Nina to attend Charles' school. Nina was dead, but other mutant children lived. Where would they go if there was no school? Some had loving families, others did not.

He allowed himself to sink to the ground. No, he couldn't deprive young mutants of something he'd wanted Nina to have.

Good decision, Erik. Saves me having to mind control you, projected Charles.

Saves me having to kill you.

Jean! Charles' mental voice sounded shocked.

Relax, Professor X. I wouldn't really kill him. Who'd help me rebuild the school?

She sounded like a weird mix of cheeky teenager and something old and amused.

Erik laughed, terrified and exhilarated.

You're both terrible people, grumbled Charles.

* * *

Erik kept Charles at arms length from then on. Charles tacitly accepted they were friends and nothing else. Sometimes Erik forgot, then it would all come rushing back and he'd have to hide away and beg forgiveness and hurt himself. Charles never said anything, he'd just patch Erik up, always gentle, always tender.

Being around the children was as hard as being around Charles. Every day he'd see one of them do something Nina had done or hear them say something she'd said. The pain would dig its claws into his gut and Charles or Jean or the both of them would unclench the talons with a mental touch. He'd objected at first, but Charles had said:

"I can't allow you to lose control around the children."

"I don't want to have to kill you. The Professor would never forgive me," added Jean with a sly, atavistic grin.

Scott avoided him. He held Erik at least partially responsible for his brother's death. Erik didn't blame him. If their roles had been reversed he'd have killed Scott. The older children tended to be wary of him, aware, no doubt, of his reputation. Peter, the speedster, shunned Erik for days at a time, then stuck to him like glue and attempted to make conversation. Charles and Raven knew something, as was plain from the knowing glances they'd exchange, but neither of them would say anything. Raven had reverted to treating him like she had in the Brotherhood; as a competent ally who she'd occasionally rip the piss out of.

The younger children were the hardest to deal with. They kept making little overtures of friendship. They'd want him to play with them. Charles had told them that Erik loved all mutations, so they'd show off their powers. They presented him with drawings of him and Jean working on the school. They gave him gifts; interesting pebbles, scraps of metal, tiny bouquets made up of one of everything growing in the flowerbeds. They'd chatter away about their friends and families and what they'd learnt that day. They'd come to him with scraped knees.

It broke his heart to turn down their offerings, to say he was busy and couldn't play, to shush their chatter and to tell them to take their tiny hurts to someone else. But he couldn't stand it, he couldn't. None of them were Nina. He couldn't allow her to be replaced in his heart. Besides, terrible things happened to his children. Best that these weren't even remotely "his". They gave up eventually. That was what he wanted, so why did it hurt so much?

Autumn turned to winter - and fuck that was miserable in temporary accommodation - and winter turned to spring.

The school was finished, with some underground improvements kept hidden from the building inspectors, who signed it off and congratulated Carmine on his work.

"Not like I deserve it," he said, "It was all you and Jean. And in eight months too. Don't often see a job done earlier than expected. You guys do good work. It's beautiful."

It was beautiful. Just as beautiful as before. They chose a spring day as warm as summer and had a massive barbecue to celebrate. The older kids danced and flirted awkwardly. The younger ones ran around screaming. The teachers gave up on maintaining any degree of control. Erik stood under an oak tree with Carmine, drinking beer, arguing about American football vs real football - "you mean football vs soccer" - and watching Charles chatting with a clutch of clearly besotted teenage girls.

"You should go ask him to dance," said Carmine.

Erik stared at him.

"For fuck's sake Lehnsherr, you couldn't be any more obvious without carrying a placard."

Erik didn't know what to say.

"Bet you expected me to be all disapproving, huh? Maybe I would've been if I hadn't met you guys. I mean, you can do shit with metal, Charles and Jean can get right in a guy's head, Scott shoots fucking death rays out his eyes and Raven looks like a giant, blue lizard. A damn hot, giant, blue lizard. Compared to all that, two guys wanting to do each other ain't nothing."

Erik started laughing.

"Besides, when I was in prison there weren't no ladies around and a guy's got needs, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, I know what you mean alright."

"So go ask him to dance."

Erik put down his beer and strode across the lawn to Charles.

"Professor Xavier, would you honour me with your hand in this dance?"

Charles looked astonished, then delighted.

"Mr Lehnsherr, the honour is mine."

If looks could kill he'd be a lifeless corpse based on the side-eyes Charles' teenage admirers were giving him. He sincerely hoped none of them had that mutation. He drew Charles into the midst of the dancers. Erik danced beside the wheelchair and Charles twirled himself around to the music. No, that wasn't quite right.

"Would you mind if we did this slightly differently?"

Charles looked intrigued. "Not at all."

Erik lifted Charles out of his wheelchair, wrapped his arms around his waist and held him close. Charles gasped and clasped his hands behind Erik's neck. Erik used the the earth's magnetic field to take most of Charles' weight. They circled the lawn, pressed together from chest to ankle. Charles felt warm and solid and smelt of soap and sweat and cologne. His legs dangled helplessly, but his upper body was a poem of muscle and sinew. Just a tiny bit more flesh and he'd be perfect.

"Honestly, Erik, do you really still prefer me chubby?"

"You're perfect however you are."

"But I'd be a bit more perfect if I had more meat on my bones."

Erik ducked his head and pressed it into Charles neck. It felt strange not to have hair tickling at his forehead, but he rather liked it. They spun round and round and up and up.

"Erik!" cried Charles, but he didn't sound scared, he sounded exhilarated.

They were up above the tree tops now. Erik slowed their spin. They looked down on their people, celebrating below. A lot of them were looking up. Carmine raised his beer bottle in salute. Erik nodded in acknowledgement. He took them higher. The music and laughter were very faint. They looked across to the coruscating lights of the city. They looked up at the stars. They looked into each other's eyes. They leaned in simultaneously. Charles' lips were as plump and irresistible as he'd remembered. He nipped Charles' plush lower lip with sharp teeth. Charles gasped into his mouth, then licked Erik's lips. Erik drew Charles' tongue into his mouth and sucked on it. Charles returned the favour.

He could feel Charles in his head, all heat and light and love. They caught their breath.

"Let's continue this somewhere a little more comfortable," whispered Charles.

Erik levitated them to Charles' bedroom. That night he learnt that Charles loved to have his bald head stroked and gently scratched. His nipples were incredibly sensitive and he'd take as much licking, sucking and biting as Erik could give him.

You miss my boobs though.

Erik projected denial.

Waste of time lying to a telepath, oh, yes, yes, do that again, oh, Erik!

Erik explored the rich, rank caves of his armpits. He dragged his teeth over the lines of Charles' ribs. He sucked bruises into his collarbones. His kissed his way up and down Charles' flanks. He turned him over and scored his back with his nails. He tongued every knob of his spine and rubbed his face over the scar on his lower back.

Charles couldn't feel it when Erik took him in his mouth, but he got off on watching him and on Erik feeling it. He could feel it when Erik thrust deep into him. He shared it with Erik, the sudden appearance of Erik's cock head hitting his prostate, then disappearing again, like the best magic trick ever. Erik fucked him and fucked him and fucked him. They gasped and moaned and sweated and came, tangled up with each other in body and mind.

Charles slept beautifully. Erik lay awake the entire night.

Nina. Magda.

Magda. Nina.

The next morning he crept out of the room before Charles was awake. He showered and dressed in his best suit. He felt Charles wake up. He gently rebuffed Charles' mental touch. He made his way down to the sub-levels and watched Raven pitting the X-Men against the Sentinels. He felt the approach of Charles' wheelchair and watch. Charles was done up to the nines too, as though, like Erik, he'd felt the need to armour himself. Erik asked him what he'd do if his school was attacked. He was pleasantly surprised by Charles' bullish answer. Charles asked him to stay and he made some pathetic joke about Charles making him stay. Charles' eyes filled with tears, but he did no more than brush lightly, lovingly across Erik's mind.

Erik slung his case onto the passenger seat of his borrowed car. He drove in a state of numbness. His powers kept him on the road despite his inattention. Three names kept running through his head, a litany of his failure as a father, a husband and a lover. He was a hundred miles down the road and counting when he felt it. Just the lightest, most delicate touch of something unimaginably vast.

You'll be back.


	4. X-Men

Erik floated gently down with the snowflakes to land in the small grove of birch trees at the back of the school. Why he hadn't gone directly to the house he didn't know. He'd felt Charles and Jean from miles out. Jean had withdrawn. A wisp of Charles' presence remained. He'd passed through some sort of invisible, crackling barrier on the way down. Beast's work no doubt. No obstacle to someone with his talents.

He prefers Hank. Are you going to come in?

Charles. Erik didn't answer. The snow was deep and crisp and even around his biker boots. He'd found motorcycling leathers protected him from the wind and cold when flying. The snow bowed the birch branches and swathed the hedges in white. It gilded the lines of the mansion, softening and blurring the building into a faded watercolour. Someone had built a small snowman on the driveway. He could see tyre tracks circling it where people had carefully driven round the little figure. It was very quiet.

He walked towards the back door. It opened before he got there. Jean. He followed the pull of Charles' wheelchair and watch to his study. There weren't many students about.

They're all in class, at least they should be. There are always a couple of skivers.

He opened the door with a flick of his powers. Charles wheeled out from behind his desk.

"Hmm, I like the leather outfit. Kinky."

His eyes were as blue as ever, his lips as red, his skin as creamy. His cheeks were decidedly chubbier than the last time he'd seen him. He had a bit of a double chin. He was chunky around the middle, a lovely little roll of flesh curling over his waistband.

"You've . . . you've put on weight."

The small smile Charles had greeted him with broadened into a wide grin.

"Three years, Erik, three years and that's the first thing you think to say?"

"Eating properly is important."

"Oh, Erik."

He stepped forward, bent and pressed a kiss to Charles' bald head. God, he loved the way it felt. Warm and smooth. Charles reached up to his face and pulled him into a proper kiss. They were both a bit breathless when they separated.

"I think this calls for a couple of glasses of my best whisky, the bottle I keep hidden from Raven."

"In the middle of the afternoon, Charles? How sybaritic."

Charles made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Erik sat on the Chesterfield and pulled off his jacket and the sweater underneath to reveal his black tee. It was hot in Charles' study. He noticed Charles noticing his tanned forearms. Charles wheeled over with the whisky and glasses, put them on the side table and transferred elegantly to the sofa. There was muscle under that layer of fat. He poured them a couple of generous measures.

"So, what have you been doing these past three years?"

Erik sipped his drink. Fuck, that was good.

"Take a look."

He felt Charles slip into his mind, a trickling stream that could become a raging flood. He closed his eyes. He loved the feel of Charles in his head. One of the reasons he'd told him to stay out when they'd first met was because he found it so seductive. Charles withdrew, but not entirely.

"Rescuing mutants, uncovering plots, destroying "research" facilities and breaking up anti-mutant terrorist cells. You have been busy. I did wonder where you were finding all those kids who kept turning up on my doorstep saying Magneto sent them. Surprisingly few human casualties."

"I got tired of killing, even humans."

"How long do we get to enjoy the pleasure of your company?"

"I don't know."

"Elusive as always."

They sipped their drinks and Charles updated him on the school.

"We have over five hundred students, ranging in age from five to eighteen. They speak scores of different languages. Sometimes it's like Babel in the corridors. We teach every subject under sun, plus train them to use their powers, plus offer a wide range of extra-curricular activities."

"Such as joining a paramilitary force."

Charles grinned. "That's only for the older students. We've made lots of improvements. Upgraded Cerebro and the Danger Room - that's what they insist on calling the training facility - expanded the labs and medical facilities. There's a stealth jet under the basketball court."

"You sound almost as if you're preparing for war."

"Hope for the best, prepare for the worst," said Charles. "My thinking has undergone something of a change over the years. Your methods were too aggressive, but I was too passive. Something in between is required. You're not the only one who's been combatting scum like the Friends of Humanity and we haven't just been using force. We've got a rather effective dirty tricks brigade."

Erik quirked an eyebrow.

"There's the legal stuff, lobbying politicians and contributing to party funds, then there's the blackmail and corruption. It's shocking how many senators and congressmen can be bribed. It's shocking how many of them have secrets they'd prefer never to see the light of day. I won't blackmail people just for being gay though. I won't pander to society's lingering prejudices."

Erik started laughing.

"Charles . . . Charles are you being ethical about blackmail?"

"Oh lord, I am."

Charles joined in the laughter, chubby belly shaking with mirth.

"Come have a look round."

They toured the school. A bell rang and children streamed out of the classrooms. Many greeted Charles and looked curiously at Erik. One little girl, about seven years old, pleaded for a ride in Charles wheelchair. One side of her face was burnt and scarred.

Her father.

Erik clenched his fist and the wheelchair vibrated slightly. Charles took her on his lap and wheeled down the corridors. Most of the children had dispersed to their dorm rooms or outside to play in the snow. Erik gave the wheelchair a push with his powers and Charles and the child shot off like a rocket. The little girl shrieked. Charles whooped. They ended up at one of the big French windows that opened onto the garden. 

"Can we go outside, Professor Charles?"

"You can Poppy, but I'm afraid my wheelchair doesn't work very well in the snow."

"Allow me," said Erik.

He pushed the floor length windows open and levitated the wheelchair just enough to skim over the snow. He was carrying his sweater and leather jacket under one arm. He draped the jacket over Charles and dropped the sweater over the child's head. It came down to her knees.

You'll freeze to death in just a tee-shirt.

Don't be ridiculous.

Erik got up on the back of the wheelchair and they dashed over the snow like a no-horse open sleigh. The girl - Poppy \- shrieked some more and made whooshing noises. Poppy leaned perilously over the side of the wheelchair, firmly held by Charles, and scooped up snow and tossed it in the air. Quite a lot landed on Erik and Charles. Erik brought them to a halt in a woodland glade. The snow had stooped falling and the sun had come out. A billion ice crystals glittered in the light. Poppy jumped off Charles' lap and yelled:

"Snowball fight!"

She proceeded to bombard Erik with snowballs. He retaliated and they chased each other around the clearing, Poppy missing with most of her missiles and Erik deliberately doing the same. She hid behind a tree, waiting to pounce. Erik wandered around, pretending not to know where she was. She was just about to pelt him with snow when he shook the branch she was standing under and deluged her in white flakes. Unfortunately for him, the branch caught on the one next to it and half a ton of snow landed on his head.

Charles wept with laughter. Erik and Poppy exchanged glances.

"No, no, teachers are out of bounds, no!"

Poppy hurled snow in Charles' face. Erik shoved some down his back. Charles screamed like a girl.

Don't be sexist, Erik.

By this time they were freezing and soaked. Erik glided them back to the house in double quick time. Charles swept Poppy upstairs in the elevator. Erik's bag was in Charles' study, so he changed in there. They met up again in the big kitchen. Various students milled around, getting drinks and fixing themselves snacks.

"What would you like?" asked Erik.

"Hot chocolate for both of us, please."

Erik made a face. He brewed a coffee for himself and heated milk for hot chocolate for the other two. He brought their drinks over to the big table. Poppy reached for hers eagerly. Her face fell. Erik felt inordinately concerned.

"You forgot the marshmellows," said Charles and pointed him at them.

Happiness restored, they chatted as their drinks cooled, Charles telling him about the students and their powers.

"I've got powers," chirped Poppy. "May I show Mr Erik?"

"Of course, darling."

She extended her fingers and the air around them sparkled with brilliant white light. Erik applauded.

"It's the dust motes imploding. She's actually doing something very complicated to the space-time continuum."

"Space-time continong," said Poppy proudly. "Do you have powers too, Mr Erik? It's OK if you don't, humans are cool too."

Your propaganda's working.

Charles made a rude gesture where Poppy couldn't see.

"Yes, I do have powers."

He floated a selection of cutlery over and made it dance through the air in ever more convoluted patterns. He opened the cutlery draw - metal handles - and dropped the silverware neatly into its assigned slots. He saved one teaspoon and turned it into a butterfly that flapped round Poppy's head and landed on her palm. She stared at it with huge eyes. The students who had gathered to watch started clapping.

"Wow, amazing control, mister."

"How the hell - sorry, Professor - heck did you keep track of them all?"

"Hope I get a handle on my powers like you someday."

They drifted away.

"Can I keep it?"

"Of course you can. I made it specially for you."

Poppy tucked the butterfly carefully into her cardigan pocket. She stared at Erik.

"Are you a daddy?"

Charles twitched and his telepathy flickered inside Erik's head like the sun on water.

"Yes, I was."

"Do you have a little boy or a little girl?"

"A little girl."

"Girls are better," said Poppy wisely. "What's her name?"

"Her name was Nina. She was a few years older than you."

"Nina. That's a pretty name. Does she have powers?"

"Yes, she could talk to animals. They were her friends, even fierce ones like bears. She liked deer and birds best."

Poppy bounced in her seat.

"That's a cool power. Can I play with her?"

"No, she's not here."

"Where is she?"

"She's with her mother."

"Oh."

Poppy's stomach growled ferociously.

"You need to run along to dinner, young lady."

She got out of her chair and came to Erik's side.

"Can I hug you, Mr Erik? You have to ask first, you can't hug people without asking and if they say no you mustn't do it."

Erik nodded, he didn't trust his voice. He knelt on the floor. She wrapped her arms round his neck and squeezed her warm, bony body against him and kissed his cheek. Children's sweat always smelt different from adults', cleaner somehow. She gave Charles a wave and skipped off.

"Shall we go back to the study?"

They walked in silence. Once the study door was closed behind them, Erik sank to his knees and put his head in Charles' lap.

I'd like you to see them.

He gave Charles everything, all his memories of his wife and child; making love with Magda in their creaking bed, reading Nina a bedtime story, washing and drying the dishes, watching Nina with her animal friends, arguing about upping sticks for America so Nina could go to Charles' school, telling Magda about Charles and her saying "no one who loves you can be my enemy", both of them chasing Nina round the house, catching her and tickling her, Magda and Nina tickling him, scraped knees, arguments about money, the inconsequential detail of daily life.

Tears stained his cheeks. They overflowed Charles' bright blue eyes and trickled down to his chin.

I envy her, Magda, having so much of you.

There was a part of me that was always yours.

Yes, perhaps. I'm glad you had so many happy years. I wish they hadn't ended, even if it meant I never saw you again. I wish they were still with you, still alive.

Erik had nothing to say to that.

They ate dinner in the study. Erik turned down dessert, but Charles tucked into a treacle pudding with great enthusiasm. Erik loved watching him eat. Red lips opened to take a sticky mouthful. A pink tongue slipped out to lick up a drop of sauce. His peachy cheeks bulged as he chewed. His throat worked as he swallowed a mouthful and his little double chin jiggled.

Erik took one of the guest bedrooms that night. He resolutely kept his hands off his cock.

Charles was busy the next day. Erik wandered the grounds and house, re-familiarising himself with the place. At lunchtime he ran into Poppy and her friends.

"Mr Erik, Mr Erik! This is Darcie Rae and this is Zoya. Can they have animals too?"

The little girls held out a couple of teaspoons. At their request, he made a pony and a tiny dinosaur. The three children attack hugged him and smothered him in kisses. Poppy looked guilty.

"We forgot to ask if we could kiss you."

"It's alright Poppy, you and Darcie Rae and Zoya can hug me anytime you like."

They trooped off, each one loudly protesting their animal was the best.

"How about a Phoenix for me?"

He turned. Jean stood there holding out a spoon. Her red hair was piled on her head. She was wearing a big sage-green jumper and tight jeans. She levitated the spoon into the air. Erik shaped it into a Phoenix. He tried to convey something of its vastness and ferocity on a tiny scale.

"Hmm, not bad. Unlike your younger admirers I will ask if I can hug you."

He opened his arms. Once they'd separated, they sat down at the kitchen table. Jean told him that she and Scott were officially a thing now. Both of them were studying to be teachers at the school. Jean wanted to teach the sciences and Scott was going to teach geometry, leadership and tactics. Her control of her powers was improving exponentially. Charles encouraged her not to be afraid of herself or the other self that coexisted with her.

"Is it a separate entity?" asked Erik.

"Yes and no."

He looked at her quizzically.

"It's so embedded in me I wouldn't be myself it wasn't there, yet at the same time I find myself talking to it as though it's another person."

"Can you control it?"

"You don't understand, it's not about control, it's not something that can be controlled, but it can be negotiated with. It needs its freedom, but that can be dangerous for me and those around me. It doesn't want to hurt me, it wants to protect me, but sometimes it just needs to burn. So I let loose in the Danger Room or on a mission. A few months back we found an underground facility where they'd been experimenting on mutants. Charles ordered everyone out except me, then told me to let go. We tore that place apart. There wasn't a piece bigger than your thumbnail left when we were done."

Erik gazed at her in awe.

"You're a remarkable woman, Jean."

She smiled and shook her head.

"I hope Scott appreciates you."

"He'd better. Besides, it's not like he doesn't have - "

She stopped.

"Well, I'd better get on. Great to see you again. Make sure you say goodbye before you go." She gave him a shrewd look. "That's if you go."

He watched her walk away.

He reached down with his powers. The Danger Room was in action. He wondered if Raven was training her troops. He made his way to the lower levels, to the observation room. Yes, there she was, putting a bunch of teenagers through their paces. She was a hard taskmaster. Good, the world wouldn't go easy on them so why should she? They trooped out, chests heaving, battered and bruised, looking like they'd gone a few rounds with Mohammed Ali.

"I'm glad you're not my teacher."

"Erik!"

She threw herself at him, almost knocking him over and hugged him so tight he couldn't breath.

"Three years, three fucking years. We knew you were alive coz you kept on sending us kids, plus Charles and Jean kept pinging you, but not a call, not a postcard, nothing. Would it have killed you to keep in touch?"

"Stop whining. So, Charles not driven you away yet?"

She smiled. "Charles is still Charles in many ways, but in others he's changed, and for the better in my opinion. Have you heard about our "let's change the world one corrupt politician at a time" initiative?"

He nodded.

"The old Charles would never have gone for that. And that's not all. Quite a few humans got killed on one of our recent missions. They had power disrupting technology. Luckily we train to fight without our mutations, but it made it harder to avoid killing them. Charles was upset, but I thought he'd be all agonised and he wasn't. He accepted it as an unfortunate consequence of protecting our people."

"He said something to me about a happy medium between our philosophies. I've never thought that was possible, but now I'm starting to wonder."

"You've changed too. Mellowed. All those years shacked up with a human."

She gaped as she realised what she'd said.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, Erik, I didn't - "

He interrupted her.

"It's OK, Raven. I can talk about them now. It won't ever not be painful, but it's no longer unbearable."

She touched her hand to his face. He felt the texture of her scales against his cheek.

"I'm going to shower. How about you join us teachers for dinner?"

"I'd like that."

"Good. Drag Charles away from his genetics crap. Apparently some new paper came out and he's having a nerdgasm."

He laughed and made his way to the study. Charles took some persuading, but eventually he put his scientific journal down.

The teachers and trainee teachers had a separate table from the kids in an adjoining room, with the big, sliding doors between the two rooms pushed wide open. The noise was tremendous.

Are they always like this?

I'm afraid so. You'd think we were feeding wild animals rather than children.

Erik sat beside Charles at the head of the table. He looked around. Raven, Jean, Scott, Beast, who gave him a cool nod, Storm, who made a tiny cloud snow on his plate, the blue teleporter and others he didn't recognise.

"Where's the speedster, Peter, called himself Mercury?"

Charles and Raven exchanged a significant look.

"I think you mean Quicksilver and he's visiting his mother and sister."

"What is it with the meaningful looks? If you have something to tell me about Mercury, I mean Quicksilver, just tell me."

Raven shook her head.

"I'm sure he'll tell you himself when he feels ready," said Charles.

"Fine, fuck the both of you."

"Erik," hissed Charles.

"What? It's not like anybody at this table hasn't heard the word fuck before."

"It's not this table I'm worried about," said Charles, looking in the direction of the other room.

Erik followed the direction of his gaze. The table closest to theirs was entirely populated by the youngest children. They were staring at him with a mixture of horror and delight.

"Mr Erik said a rude word," piped up Poppy.

"Mr Erik's very sorry, aren't you Mr Erik?"

"Yes, I'm very sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"Mr Erik said fu - "

Charles interrupted her. "Yes, thank you Poppy, get on with your dinner."

What the fuck's wrong with you? projected Charles.

Sorry, I forgot. Besides, you just said fuck, you hypocrite.

Yes, in my head, where the children can't hear.

Jean can hear.

She's twenty one you idiot.

Jean collapsed in helpless laughter.

Dinner proceeded fairly normally after that, apart from a food fight breaking out between the teenagers and a girl accidentally phasing through a wall. Erik enjoyed Charles enjoying his food. As they got up and started to clear their table, a handsome, white haired woman entered the room.

"Irene, I wondered where you were," cried Raven.

Her eyes were covered with a milky film, but she moved confidently towards them.

"Irene, this is Erik Lehnsherr, aka Magneto. Shut up, Charles. Erik, this is Irene Adler, aka Destiny, my partner."

Destiny took both his hands in hers and said:

"Erik Lehnsherr? We need to talk."


	5. X-Man

"May we use your study, Professor Xavier?"

"Yes, yes of course, Irene."

"I'd prefer to speak to Mr Lehnsherr alone."

Charles looked at Erik, who nodded. Raven looked disgruntled.

"I'd also prefer you not to listen in, Professor."

Now it was Charles' turn to look disgruntled.

"Very well."

Erik followed Irene into the study. She sat in Charles' chair on one side of the chess board. Erik sat in his usual chair opposite her.

"My mutant name is Destiny. I wonder if you can guess what my power is?"

"Do you . . . see the future?"

"Yes and no. I see possible futures. Not every future I see will come to pass. I also recognise key events and key people that will make a particular future more or less likely to come about."

"Am I one of those people?"

"Yes, you and Charles Xavier."

She paused.

"I have a kind of touch telepathy. I can show you my visions, nothing else, and I can't read anything from you. Would you allow me to show you?"

Erik frowned. He didn't like this.

"Can't you just tell me?"

"I could, but I feel the only way for you to understand the gravity of the situation is by experiencing the possible futures as I do."

Erik knew Charles, having agreed not to, wouldn't listen in. He also knew Charles would be keeping a mental eye on him and would step in if necessary.

"OK."

Destiny stretched out her hand. After a moment's hesitation, Erik grasped it. Her fingers were cold. Then he was falling down a tunnel except it was twisting and he was falling up. Other tunnels branched off everywhere, hundreds of them, thousands of them, incalculable numbers of different futures.

* * *

Magneto finished transferring his powers to the girl, Rogue. The machine started cycling up to speed, spindles rotating faster and faster until she was surrounded by a silver blur. She was so young. For a moment he felt a pang of remorse, quickly quashed. Her sacrifice would ensure the future of mutantkind. The death of one child was a small price to pay.

* * *

Charles sat in the duplicate Cerebro, helmet on his head. Stryker had drugged him and used his son's powers of illusion to trick him into hunting down and killing every mutant on the planet. Stryker had failed. He'd only succeeded in setting everything up perfectly for Magneto. He rose into the air and reconfigured the huge machine, sweeping metal panels around the great, spherical space in a complicated aerial ballet. He sank down onto the walkway. Mystique transformed into William Stryker and whispered in Jason's ear.

"There's been a change of plan. Have him find the humans, all of them, and kill them."

Magneto briefly rested his hand on Charles' shoulder. He wouldn't survive billions of deaths. Erik had loved him once, still did somewhere deep inside, but this was their chance for a world without humans, a world where mutants ruled.

"Goodbye, Charles."

He walked away. He didn't look back.

* * *

Jean was the vortex of a maelstrom of destruction. She was tearing the house apart. She was tearing Charles apart, atom by atom. Somehow he managed to turn his head a fraction, fighting against the forces that were ripping him to pieces. He looked directly at Erik and smiled. Magneto felt his gut clench. Charles had been his lover, his friend, his enemy and the constant by which he measured himself. Jean's powers reached a crescendo and Charles disintegrated into nothingness. The maelstrom died down. Everything was quiet and still. He got to his feet. With Jean at his side he'd conquer the world. So why did he feel so empty?

* * *

The Sentinels were breaking into the temple. They didn't have much time. Erik gripped the wound in his side. He wondered if he'd bleed out before the Sentinels got him. After all they'd done, the bastards had still got hold of Mystique and used the knowledge gained from vivisecting her to rebuild their murder machines, not as clumsy metal monsters, but as chameleon organic entities. Everything they'd done had been pointless. He felt Charles in his head, not words, just feelings; love, sorrow, fear, love.

"All those years wasted fighting each other, Charles . . . to have a precious few of them back."

Charles clasped his hand. The Sentinels broke through. One of them turned to Erik and Charles. Its featureless face peeled back in a way that was horribly reminiscent of the flutter of Mystique's scales. A light brighter than a thousand suns blazed down on them and they were consumed by the flames.

* * *

They put the cure in the water, they put it in the food, they pumped it into the air. Erik had lost the last shreds of his power months ago. He felt something brush against his mind, so faint, so faint.

"Charles?"

"Yes, Erik, love, yes, it's me."

"But . . . but how?"

"I took a massive overdose of the antidote. It's killing me, literally, but at least I've got enough strength to power Cerebro, to reach out to you."

"No, no, no! Why, Charles, why?"

"Because I can't live without my telepathy, Erik. I can't live in a world of ghosts. I can't live without ever feeling your mind again. It hurts, Erik, it hurts. I love you, but I can't hold on any longer, I can't . . ."

He faded away in a burst of static. Erik sat in silence for a long time. Then he picked up the gun, put it to his head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

"No more mutants, daddy," giggled the Scarlet Witch. "I've made them all human, all of them, even you. You always loved them more than us, more than your children, more than me. But they don't exist anymore so you can love us now, you have to love us now, daddy, you have to."

* * *

Destiny released his hand. His eyes stung with tears and his stomach . . . Erik grabbed the wastepaper bin and lost his dinner. He could feel Charles' anxiety.

It's alright, I'm alright.

The anxiety lessened a little.

"Those were possible futures?"

"Yes."

"Are none of them good?"

"No, not if you leave Charles Xavier. In every future where the two of you are apart, whether you are bitter enemies or vague acquaintances, there is nothing but darkness. Your separation is disastrous for mutants and for humanity."

Was this some kind of trick? Had Charles put her up to it? No, everything about her rang true.

She stood.

"I'll send the Professor to you."

Charles wheeled in.

"What did she say to you? You were so distressed I was a second away from coming down on her like a tin of bricks. What happened?"

"She showed me some possible futures."

'I'm guessing they weren't good."

"They were horrific, and they'll come to pass if we're not together."

Charles blue eyes widened. His red lips parted.

"Apparently we're a kind of pivot around which the future turns."

Charles frowned.

"I don't know how to feel about this. Of course I want you to stay, but it hurts to think it's only because you want to avoid a dark future."

Erik took his hands in his.

"No, Charles, no, you don't understand. Of course I want to stay. I wanted to stay after Cuba, but I was afraid I wouldn't be able to fight for mutantkind if I did. I wanted to stay after Washington, but I'd hurt you too deeply for that to be possible. I wanted to stay three years ago, but Magda and Nina's deaths were too raw. I want to stay now, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid I'm a kind of Jonah, that wherever I go disaster follows. I'm afraid I'll lose you like I've lost everyone else in my life."

Charles' love and compassion washed over him. They were falling into each other. Then Charles leaned back.

"What's that smell?"

"Ah, I may have thrown up in your wastepaper bin."

Charles started laughing.

"I'd really prefer any declarations of undying love not to be accompanied by a lingering smell of vomit."

Erik laughed.

"I'll get rid of this, shall I?"

He disposed of the vomit and gave his teeth a quick brush. When he got back to the study, Charles was talking to a shaking teenaged boy, who was trying desperately hard not to cry.

Sorry about this. Tomorrow?

Hazards of running a school. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow came. Erik went for an early morning run. After he'd showered and dressed, he brewed some Earl Grey for Charles, who looked absolutely delighted when he wheeled into the kitchen. Charles went off to teach his ethics class. Erik sat in on a physics lesson and was appalled by his own ignorance. Charles was lunching with some parents, so Erik showed Poppy, Darcie Rae and Zoya how to make an omelette. He let them break the eggs into the bowl, which necessitated cleaning of children and work surfaces. He made them laugh by working the whisk with his powers.

In the afternoon he took over one of Raven's sessions in the Danger Room. An hour later, a bedraggled bunch of teenagers limped and staggered into the corridor.

"Fuck, and I thought Mystique was a bitch," muttered one boy.

Erik gave him his best smile. The boy limped off as quickly as he could. Raven high-fived him.

The snow had started to settle on the paths around the house. Erik marshalled a phalanx of shovels and cleared them, then sprinkled salt.

He sat next to Charles at dinner. They didn't talk much, just "pass the salt, please," or "this casserole is delicious". Occasionally their shoulders would brush or their fingers touch and Erik would feel a massive jolt of arousal, part him, part Charles.

He was thrumming with anticipation as he made his way to Charles' bedroom. He opened the door with his powers. Charles was sprawled on his huge bed, stark naked. All that flesh, that pink and cream flesh, soft, smooth, delicious. Erik tore off his clothes and climbed onto the foot of the bed.

"Finally," he said.

"Yes, we certainly have taken our time, haven't we?"

Erik smiled. "And now I'm going to take my time."

He started at Charles' feet, kissing each toe, kissing his ankles and working his way up Charles' calves, knees and thighs. Charles couldn't feel it, but he could feel Erik feeling it. His legs were thin, but Erik didn't care because they were **his** legs. He sucked his cock into his mouth and licked and teased him. Charles echoed Erik's sensations back at him until Erik felt as though he was sucking his own cock.

Why don't you come get what you really want?

Charles reached down and squeezed his belly between his fingers. Erik took his mouth off Charles' cock and pushed his face into Charles' stomach. He rubbed his nose, his cheeks, his mouth and his chin all over Charles' voluptuous flesh. He sucked bruises into his belly and gnawed his luscious fat. He dug his fingers into the folds and kneaded his opulent paunch.

I've got something even better up here.

He looked up. Charles was lazily brushing his fingers over his nipples. Erik surged up. God, his lovely tits. Delectable little hummocks of flesh surrounded his nipples. Erik sank his teeth into a succulent boob. Charles moaned and slid his fingers into Erik's hair. Erik pulled off to admire the neat bite mark that encircled Charles' tiny breast. He gave the other tit a matching one. He sucked the whole mouth-watering mound into his mouth. He pinched and twisted and tweaked the other nipple. Charles threw his head back and gasped.

Fuck my tits, Erik, fuck my tits.

Erik clambered up Charles' body till he was straddling his chest. Charles looked obscene, eyes hooded, tongue flickering out to lick his lips, face and chest flushed, nipples gleaming with sweat and Erik's spit. He looked like some Rubenesque courtesan, embarking on a night of pleasure. How could Erik ever have thought of leaving him? Charles telepathy flared up, hot and dazzling. He pressed his breasts together and locked eyes with Erik.

Erik slid his cock into Charles' embonpoint and started thrusting. His eyes never left Charles'. He pumped into that perfect crease of warm, welcoming flesh. Charles' lust and love flickered over his skin like flame, drowning him in a thousand kisses, a thousand nips and bites. A myriad of tiny tongues teased and licked him. He thrust harder, faster. Charles pushed his tits tighter together.

Come for me and take me with you.

Erik spurted come over Charles' nipples and chest and neck and chin. Charles shuddered beneath him. Erik fell forwards. Time ceased to exist.

Much as I love you would you mind getting your impressively toned abs out of my face. I can't breath.

Erik laughed and rolled over.

The next morning Destiny stopped him in the corridor. Her smile was radiant.

"I can feel the probabilities shifting, the alignments changing. Our new future won't be perfect, there will be sorrow, but so much joy."

That night, when Charles had fucked him into incoherence with a metal dildo, Erik said:

"Told you we made the earth move."

Charles laughed and smacked his ass and made him clean them both up, just like always.

* * *

The sun was bright and the sky was blue and the snow was glittering in an offensively Disney way. Erik was wandering round the grounds, wondering if Charles would let him set up gun emplacements. In his current mood he might. He was wrestling with paperwork - "Sometimes I'm tempted to mind control the bastard school board into thinking I've done the fucking stuff!" - and the paperwork was winning.

A motorbike roared up the driveway. Erik absentmindedly grasped the metal just in case he needed to kill the intruder. But there was too much metal. And wasn't that adamantium? It was inside the rider, integral to his skeleton. Erik couldn't help giving it a twitch. Bike and rider careered into a snowdrift. Feeling a trifle guilty, Erik hurried over.

The rider didn't seem to be hurt. He was getting to his feet and hauling his bike up. He wasn't wearing a helmet.

"Logan?"

"Do I know you, bub?"

"Don't you remember the Pentagon? Breaking me out?"

He decided not to mention running Logan through with rebar and tossing him in the Potomac.

"Nope, can't say that I do. Course, don't remember much of nothing these days. Wonder what the fuck just happened inside me? Felt like someone grabbed my skeleton and pulled."

"I'm afraid that was me."

Erik gestured and a couple of dents in the bike smoothed out.

"Well, no bones broken and if there had of been they'd have healed. Don't go doing it again though, bub."

"I won't."

He kickstarted the bike, gave Erik a nod and drove off towards the house.

Erik asked Charles about him before dinner.

"Raven rescued him from the Potomac."

He gave Erik a dirty look. Erik pretended to be very interested in his fingernails.

"He stayed here for a while, then he just up and went one day and we never heard from him again. Some black ops group got hold of him and injected him with adamantium and attempted to brainwash him. The brainwashing didn't hold due to his natural regenerative capabilities. His mind was terribly damaged though. He remembered just enough to find his way back here. I've done what I can to retrieve his memories, but his mutation fights me. He comes and goes as he pleases. The children love him."

The children certainly did love him. At dinner a dozen of them tried to climb him like a tree, including Zoya and Darcie Rae. Poppy stuck to Erik's side.

"Don't you want to say hello to Logan?" asked Erik.

"No," said Poppy. "The hair on his face is all scratchy. I don't like it. I like your face. It's nice and smooth."

She patted his close shaven cheek. Erik felt a glow of triumph. Charles smirked. Jean giggled.

"Off you go to your own table now, sweetheart."

She climbed reluctantly off his lap.

Logan seemed very popular with the teaching staff and trainees. Ororo asked him what he'd been up to and he entertained them with tales of working as a lumberjack - which involved wrestling bears in a snowy wilderness - and taking to sea on a trawler - wrestling nets in a watery wilderness. Scott was the only one who didn't seem to like him. He didn't ask Logan any questions and he didn't laugh at his jokes. Several times Erik caught what looked like a sneer on Scott's face.

Jean was behaving very strangely. One moment she was haughty and off-hand with Logan. The next she was smiling warmly and hanging on his every word. At one point she wiped a stray blob of mayonnaise off his sideburns. Scott looked like he wanted to nuke him. Logan had this weird, soft, fond look when he gazed at Jean. Realisation hit Erik like a ten ton weight.

Penny finally dropped, has it? projected Charles.

So that's what Jean had meant when Erik had said he hoped Scott appreciated her. She'd said that he'd better and added, "it's not like he doesn't have - " and then stopped. Competition. She'd been going to say competition. And the competition was Logan. 

Erik discussed it with Charles in bed.

"Logan was struck the moment he saw her. He's very old you see, at least a century. She looks like a young woman, but he seemed to sense that ancient part of her, something older and stronger than him. The two of them have been dancing round each other ever since, blowing hot and then cold."

"What about Scott?"

"He loathes Logan. Thinks he's this disgusting old man who wants to corrupt her. Logan loathes him back. He thinks Scott's just a callow youth who isn't worthy of her."

"And Jean?"

Charles sighed.

"Jean seems to be perfectly poised between the two of them. The Phoenix definitely favours Logan."

Erik shook his head.

"I had no idea school life could be so exciting."

"Oh, the intrigue level is sky high and there's so much more than just those three. No, I'm not going to tell you. Find out for yourself."

He sighed again.

"I really think a some kind of polyamorous arrangement might be best for the three of them. I'm sure Jean and the Phoenix would be up for it and I think Logan might be persuaded. It's Scott that's the stopping point, he's very small-town-America."

Erik howled with laughter. Charles gazed at him in surprise.

"I'm pretty sure the headmaster of a respectable school for gifted children shouldn't suggest a threesome between a couple of trainee teachers and a rogue military experiment."

Charles started giggling. Erik pounced on him and tickled him till he screamed. Then he made him scream some more for entirely different reasons.

* * *

Quicksilver returned home on a Saturday morning when the main entrance hall was crowded with students putting on coats and hats and scarves and gloves. They were going to build a giant snowman. Erik was buttoning Poppy into her coat. Charles was telling everyone to come back in as soon as they got cold. Poppy squealed and pulled out of Erik's grasp and dashed towards the huge, oak doors.

"Peter, Peter!"

Peter scooped her up and whirled her around. When he put her down she staggered away in a big circle and bumped into Erik's legs. Peter was surrounded by students and trainee teachers. He looked very young, even though he must've been in his late thirties, early forties.

"Great to see you back."

"We've missed you."

"Can't wait for you to start training us again. Mystique is killing us."

"No Wanda?"

"No, no Wanda. She says she doesn't want to leave mom on her own and mom's like, "I can take care of myself," and "even Peter's left home, do you really want to be a later developer than him?" which is kinda harsh, but she's my mom, so what can you do? Wanda really needs to get her ass over here. Her powers are getting real freaky and she still can't totally control them. She needs this place, like, so much."

Poppy dragged Erik over to him.

"Peter, this is my friend, Mr Erik. Mr Erik, this is my friend, Peter. We call him Quicksilver, because he's quick and his hair is silver. Say hello."

Peter stared at him.

"Oh, wow, Mags, you're here. Wow, yeah, hi man, great to see you, unless you're gonna do some bad shit - sorry, Poppy - then not great to see you. I guess the Prof wouldn't have you here unless you were cool. So, long time no see, um, yeah, er, right."

Charles fixed his blue eyes on Peter.

"Yeah, Prof, I know, I want to, I really want to, it's just, like, what if he doesn't . . . and I don't . . . and after what happened with his other kid . . ."

He stopped and looked ludicrously dismayed. Everybody stared at him, then at Erik. He could feel Charles' concern curling round his head. Erik's mind seemed to be moving at a glacial pace. He was creeping towards something huge, something vitally important. He was crawling through mud and broken glass and barbed wire.

"Are you . .. are you my son?"

Hours later, when he had wept and laughed and wept and smiled, he was still taking in the wonder of it. His son. His son, Peter, Pietro, Quicksilver. Peter told him he taught physical education and control of powers. He said he had:

"Kinda a thing about Ororo, maybe it's coz we've both got white hair."

Raven was, perhaps, his closest friend.

"She's such a bad ass and, damn, she's got a wicked sense of humour."

He loved teaching the little kids, they were a blast, a real riot.

Erik told him about his parents, Peter's grandparents. They both cried. He told him about Shaw and Cuba and the Brotherhood. They spoke of Dallas and after. He tried to explain why he'd followed Apocalypse, how the death of his wife and child had left him hollowed out and open to anything, no matter how terrible. More tears.

Peter talked about his early life, which seemed to consist of pranks, skipping school, kleptomania and living in his mother's basement. His mom was great, she never gave up on him even when he was being a complete asshole. Wanda was great too, the best sister in the world. Her powers were wild, really unpredictable, no one understood them.

"I call her the Scarlet Witch, coz her hair's red and her powers are kinda witchy".

Something about that sounded familiar. Magda - why were all the women in his life called Magda? It was a common enough name in Eastern Europe, but still. Magda hadn't had any children when she met Erik.

"I take it she's your younger sister?"

"No, Mags, I mean Erik, I mean dad. We're the same age."

Erik's eyes widened.

"Didn't I mention we were twins?"

Erik burst into tears.

Destiny had been right about joy and sorrow and it had only been a few weeks.

There were many weeks, many months, many years and by the time they were old, old men and Erik's hair was as silver as his son's and Charles was a delicious, roly-poly dumpling, they had known a great deal of pain, but, oh, the joy, the joy, the joy . . .

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's curious about the title, it's an amalgamation of "too solid flesh" from Hamlet and a traditional hymn "Let all mortal flesh keep silence".


End file.
